me mum

this is me mum:



she came to visit last week...and we had an incredible new york city christmas-time adventure.

it all started at lincoln center...

where this happened:



and this:



and then we saw this:



and this:



now...i have never been a big ballet fanatic...or...whatever.

i had seen the Nutcracker a few times growing up in Connecticut...but this was my first time seeing the New York City Ballet do Balanchine's Nutcracker...AND it was one of the most beautiful things i have ever seen.

i have to admit, i was feeling a little blue after my return from London. and a month-or-so ago, my mother and i were talking about christmas and she told me that one of the first things she had taken me to see as a wee lad was The Nutcracker.

(please note: i am using words like "mum" and "wee lad" to alleviate the brit-less hollow that has been forming in my heart over the last couple weeks)

anyway, she said unlike other wee lads in the audience, i sat through the whole thing completely silent and still -- the little eye parts of my face rapt with attention.

i have no memory of this.

but, when me mum suggested that we pick a night and go see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. i said, "sure."

and i do have the christmas spirit...but i didn't expect to see what i saw. it was just so beautiful.

and there were moments where those childhood memories that are tucked away just come flooding out in a subconscious flood of tears.

this happened to me at Chitty Chitty Bang Bang when Raul Esparza started singing "Hushabye Mountain" and i realized that, although i had not seen the movie since i was ten years-old, i knew every word.

at the Nutcracker...it happened when the tree grew:



now that is the tree at normal height.

for anyone who may not be familiar with the nutcracker narrative -- during the transition from christmas party to magical mystical nutcracker-come-to-life excitement...the christmas tree grows from below the stage...and just keeps growing and growing until it has extended way beyond the proscenium into infinity. and then keeps going.

i think this effect must have had an impact on me as a child...because i lost it.

major flooding via cornea.

it was as if i were in therapy and i realized i had been abused as a child.

but, there was no abuse.

just a tree.

and then there were the snowflakes:



and these people:



and more tears.

beauty.

and the music.

and the orchestra.

i think i love ballet.

also, the lobby:



and the balcony overlooking lincoln center:



and me taking artsy photos of me mum on the balcony:



and in front of beaded curtains:



and then there was wine.

and bread.



now me mum does not enjoy posing for pictures, so i get a lot of photos of mum talking.

me mum also reads this blog on occasion.

she appreciates my sense of humor and will thus understand the importance of my posting the following photos of her mid-speak:





and on her cell phone with my brother telling her that he just got a tattoo:



and directing pedestrian traffic:



but she's also a good sport and was willing to take sardonic poses alongside pop-up books:



as well as natural, beautiful poses in front of giant snowflakes (i seriously love this photo):



she even took pictures of me as a jack-in-the-box:



and with my long-haired doppelganger:




we also took in some skaters:




some st. patrick's cathedral:




some santa on tin drum:



and some bizarre winter windows:




and now...

i am not one to get all sentimental and bloggy...but this entry will now take a little departure from humorous narrative into sincere and christmas-spirity sentiment.

i had the most wonderful night with my mom. there is nothing like walking around New York City in December and just taking in the beauty of the season with the woman who gave birth to this creation known as me. who took me to the Nutcracker as a child. who would describe everything that was happening in A Chorus Line as we listened to the tape on the car stereo. who (along with my father) would take me into the city to see a Broadway musical for my birthday. who gave me my passion and the opportunities to pursue my dreams.

not to mention, my sense of humor. my sarcasm. my brilliant wit, wisdom and wack.

i mean, she brought me The Happy Holiday Hearth dvd for our chilly williamsburg living room!!



brilliant.

in Billy Elliot (the musical) -- Billy's teacher, Mrs. Wilkinson, reads a very moving letter that Billy's deceased mother had left for him. At the end of the song, Mrs. Wilkinson says:

"She must have been a very special woman"

and Billy replies,

"No. She was just me mum."

this is me mum:



and she is very much alive.

and i love her.

and now on this cold winter night...as i lie in bed...my wreath-scented candles burning...the feline cuddled up by my feet...i am so proud to add her to my repertoire of blog entries that end with an extended arm two-shot of me with somebody who i am so lucky to have in my life:



thanks mum.